


The Ribbons and the Rot

by feverbeats



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Robin," she says again, meeting his eyes even behind his mask. "As in Batman and. Better half and all that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ribbons and the Rot

**Author's Note:**

> Mildly AU at the end of War Games, but it wasn't when I started it. The title and the section titles are from Thea Gilmore songs.

**where the bones is**

Jason Todd is alive. He's alive, but he's a fucking mess, even after a long restorative coma and an even longer stay with the charming Al Ghul family.

The memory of Talia's lips on his is fading. His bones don't ache anymore from the force with which he hit the water.

And he's home. God, _home_, home in Gotham after all this damn time. The memory of all the old wounds and bruises hovers half-forgotten under his skin, making him wince when he moves. The wounds are deeper than memory, and they were waiting for him to come back. The pavement under his feet is cracked and the lights from the porn store across the street flicker, welcoming him home with every little cliché he didn't realize was a cliché when he was fifteen.

He buys himself a new jacket. No offense to Talia, but Jason would rather pick something out himself. Stubbornness is something he didn't slough off with the remains of his previous life. It's a good jacket, too. It's leather, with a stiff collar and big pockets. It smells new, and he wears it until it doesn't.

He spends three days filling the pockets of his jacket with things that matter to him and no one else. Police tape curls around a soda bottle cap that digs into his hand when he clenches it in his pocket. He buys a pack of playing cards and throws them off a bridge one by one until all that's left is the—well. He puts the card in his pocket for safekeeping.

Most of all, Jason is angry. He's back in Gotham for a reason, and that reason has nothing to do with redemption or revenge. Not revenge against the person who killed him, anyway.

He goes to an all-night drugstore and buys a slushie. Bruce did this for him once, he thinks, but he's not sure. The truth of the memory doesn't matter, all that matters is that Jason is making a new one. He wonders if he's growing up or trapping himself in a childhood that was mostly made up, anyway. He throws the slushie away and then immediately feels bad about it. Bruce was never his father, after all. He laughs, but the sound doesn't come off very well.

It takes Jason a few week of haunting--ha ha--the streets of Gotham before he makes his way back to the shitty apartment where he used to live. He stares and stares at the empty pavement where the Batmobile was parked all those years ago, but there's nothing there. He didn't expect to feel like this much of a ghost.

He watches a group of punk kids, one of whom has a shock of brightly-dyed green hair, as they congregate on the street corner to smoke. One of them laughs, a high, sharp sound. It's a laugh that could have come from Jason's mouth a long time, maybe. He watches until his mouth goes dry.

And finally, he snaps out of it. His boots suddenly feel solid on the pavement, and he has a job to do. This time, though, it _can_ be a game, because he's making up the rules himself. The brief jolt of uncertain terror in his gut at this thought isn't worth dwelling on. He's been untethered for a while now, and he'll be damned if he's about to go crawling back to Wayne Manor for instruction. It might be worth it, though, to see the look on Bruce's face. He wonders what Bruce would say.

He wonders what _he'd_ say.

Finding an apartment in Gotham is easy enough, and it's not like anyone's asking questions. It's not like anyone recognizes him. He doesn't go around without pants these days, after all.

The first thing he does after that is buy a gun. He takes a certain savage pleasure in hefting the cold metal and thinking, _Bruce would never. Never, never, never_. Then he goes home and turns the TV on and has nightmares.

It takes him another week before he feels comfortable moving in the city again. He doesn't think Gotham has changed, so he must be the one who's different. The streets smell the same, but they don't fit him anymore. He watches scruffy kids with skinned knees as they go about their petty crime and wonders how he ever got so far from that life. He wonders if he's glad he did.

Then one night, he goes back to the cemetery. He's hasn't been back here since he crawled out of the ground, but he figures it's worth a visit, for the sake of closure. At the same time, he's well aware that real closure won't come until he sees Bruce again. He's been avoiding watching the sky, because sometimes it lights up and he thinks he knows what he'd see if he glanced up. Then again, maybe Bruce is out of favor again and it's just lightning.

To his surprise, the cemetery isn't empty. There's a girl sitting on one of the graves, her blonde hair disheveled and hanging over his eyes. She's staring at her ragged sneakers.

Jason takes his hood off and tucks it under his arm before running a hand through his hair. The wind picks up, and he says, "Hey."

**the ashes and the orchids**

"Oh my fucking God," says Steph. So, okay. There she was, floating around doing shit, dropping in now and then to make sure that Cass was okay, and now she suddenly hurts all over. "Oh_god. Bad_," Steph says, and she realizes that she's not breathing too well, either. And she feels solid.

She also realizes that her hand is clutching the edge of a gravestone. Her eyes clench shut. No _way_ is she looking at the name on it.

She ends up coughing for what feels like hours, and she's pretty sure it's shaking up her brain. Everything is all purple in her vision, and oh God, she can't walk down the street in a Spoiler suit. She bangs her head on the gravestone with one cough, and there's blood on her fingers before she stops coughing. "Great," she manages to choke out, "Is this from the internal bleeding or the massive head wound?" Not so funny.

She doesn't know whether or not she was buried in her suit, but she's been wearing it since she was dead, so it makes sense that she's wearing it now. As much as any of this makes sense, that is. She curls the torn bits of fabric around herself and presses her hands against the cold ground. She smells mud and grass and Spring. She tastes blood. Being dead was simpler.

After a few minutes, she uncurls and sits up, because she doesn't exactly have another option. She's cold, her throat's messed up, her head hurts, she's—hungry. Really, really hungry. Then she realizes that she isn't hungry at all. There's sort of a dull, empty feeling where her stomach ought to be, and her hand looks sort of transparent. "No," she says, then, "What the _hell?_" as her hand solidifies again, and the ache in her stomach returns. "Make up your mind," she says, less freaked out than she should be.

Okay, so she's dead. She knew that. So why is she all solid and hungry and _ow?_ And bloody. She needs to get the hell out of here, that's obvious. She turns her back on the grave, still ignoring it, and she walks slowly out of the graveyard. Her arms feel weird and heavy, and she swings them a little to get the feeling back.

The question of what to do is too confusing, so she just walks. Her senses keep turning themselves on and off, and her ears are ringing. It's windy on the street, and Steph can't really focus or remember where she is. Besides, she's getting weird looks. "Why couldn't I have mysteriously come back to life at night like everyone else?" she grumbles. Then again, there are people she'd rather avoid on the streets at night, and she doesn't mean the fucking criminals.

She manages to get through the process of shoplifting some clothes from the thrift store without going insubstantial again, thank God. She probably shouldn't be starting off her new life by breaking the law, but she didn't exactly come back to life--or whatever this is--with her pockets stuffed with cash, so she's going to have to do the best she can.

Steph pulls her baseball cap, complete with Superman logo, down lower over her headphones. She's listening to something weird she picked up in a store whose name she can't remember. The CD player isn't very good, but she drew the line at stealing something expensive. Stealing music at all is probably excessive, but she needs the feeling of sound in her ears.

Steph watched _The Princess Bride_ when she was twelve, and she can't stop thinking about Westley "mostly dead," which she's willing to bet wasn't nearly as confusing as this. It would at least be nice to know, one way or the other, what she is. She's wearing a purple t-shirt, because—no reason, just because. She didn't feel like looking too hard for another one, and she was tired. She's wearing a long-sleeved white shirt under it because her arms are still kind of messed up.

Her next stop is a shitty convenience store. She knows she can't keep going much longer with this stealing thing before she gets caught, but she's always been lucky in the past. She looks down at her sneakers and fingers the hole in one arm of her shirt. It's weird to feel safe out here in the dark. She used to get a thrill out of knowing that she could handle herself, but now she's only safe because she knows a punch would probably go through through her.

She steals a bag of chips and a candy bar, because her priorities are so great.

After that, she just feels fucking lost. She can't go home. What if she tries to hug her mom and turns all ghostly again? And she sure as hell can't go to Tim. He's probably having a tough enough time right now. Cass might . . . Steph's head hurts. The fact of the matter is, her problem is probably a little too weird for basically everyone she knows. Being too weird for the Batfamily is so hilarious that Steph almost wishes she were dead again.

So she goes back to the cemetery and sits on her stupid tombstone. She watches her hand go through the candy bar once or twice before she can pick it up, and she wonders what the point of all this is. Why is she even back? Why now? She's not doing anyone any good.

"Hey."

Steph jerks to a stand, startled. "Oh, Jesus." Her throat still feels rough.

There's a guy with douchey black hair and a polished red hood under his arm standing a few feet away from her, smirking with what looks like annoyance. He reminds her of Tim, only taller and broader, with a meaner tinge to his face. He's also wearing a domino mask.

"Hey," she returns warily.

**between the dying and the concrete**

"You okay?" Jason ventures. The girl looks more pissed off than anything else.

"I'm . . ." He touches the hood under his arm self-consciously, aware that he's still wearing his mask. "Red Hood."

Annoyance flickers across the girl's face. "Nice to meet you, Red Hood. You look like a psycho killer."

He laughs. "Well, I kill psychos. That's probably why. What's your name?"

She tosses her head, defiant. "Robin," she says.

Jason sucks in a sharp breath. "What," he says flatly. And okay, maybe her name is Robyn, maybe, maybe, maybe she's--

"Robin," she says again, meeting his eyes even behind his mask. "As in Batman and. Better half and all that."

Jason tries so hard not to be rocked, but he just next expected the emotional blow to come from this angle. "Oh," he says. "Yeah, I've heard of you." Lying to some stupid teenage girl who stole an identity he doesn't even want anymore is pathetic, but he can't help it. He's also very suddenly aware that he can't let this girl go. If she's Robin, she's his link to Bruce. She's his in. _Great_. "I heard you were a boy, though," he adds, because the dig is worth it.

"Bite me," the girl sighs. "Look, I'm out of costume." She fingers her purple t-shirt self-consciously. "Well, mostly. And I'm not really wild about walking around Gotham broadcasting the fact that I'm Robin right now. We could maybe do the real name thing here?"

Jason's not having it. "Clearly Batman didn't teach you very well, Robin. You can't just tell strangers who you are, kid."

The girl snorts. "Yeah, okay, sure. Because, what? You might track down my family and kill them? Nobody gives enough of a shit about my family for that. How 'bout just first names, then?"

Jason hesitates. "Okay."

She sticks out her hand, wincing slightly. "Stephanie. Steph."

"Jay," Jason says, surprising himself by heading halfway towards honesty. It's a discarded nickname, anyway.

Steph nods. "So, we're good."

"Yeah," Jason says. "Okay. Listen, Steph, do you want to come to my place and hang out? I'm a superhero, too."

She snorts. "Yeah, because _that_ doesn't sound like a creepy come-on."

He can't blame her for thinking that, exactly. Hell, he'd probably think the same thing, probably _did_ think the same thing back when he was a jerky kid on the streets with dirty palms and sharp cheekbones. He likes her. She's blonde, like he used to be. "Nice," he says, "But I don't do girls." It's not true, but for all intents and purposes, it might as well be right now.

She looks at up and down, still with that less-then-impressed expression. He reminds her of someone, but he can't place who. "Are you sure you're not a supervillain? I guess most of them aren't dicks enough to lie about it."

Jason laughs, only partly at the irony. "Do you want to know the truth? I used to work with Batman, too." He glances at the dirt on her face pointedly. "I'm guessing your employment might be kinda former, too."

Steph gets to her feet a little shakily. "Dude, everything about me is pretty former. I only just got out of that stupid grave a few hours ago." She says it like Jason won't be surprised, and he's finally convinced for sure that she's Robin, or at least that she was.

"Cool," he says. "I crawled out of mine a little while ago."

She looks at him. Then she sticks out her hand.

He shakes it.

He lets her sit on the back of his motorcycle on the way back to his place, and he pretends he can't feel her hands go insubstantial every few minutes. That's got to be his imagination. Got to be. Then again, he'd kind of rather it weren't. Being crazy is something he's about ready to grow out of it, and all he really wants from this girl is a way to Bruce. To hurt Bruce.

He pulls up outside a convenience store, skidding to a stop and ignoring the group of scruffy teenagers outside. "Hey. I need some soda. You coming in?"

"If I come in, I'm getting another candy bar," Steph says, jamming a piece of hair under the helmet he lent her but is pretty sure she doesn't need. "Also, more chips. And cookies."

Jason snorts. "You're eating a lot. I think that's supposed to mean that you're nervous or upset or fat or something."

"Or alive," Steph says tightly.

Jason doesn't argue.

When they get back to his place, she eats the chips like she hasn't eaten in weeks. "So," she says finally, "Do you have a story for me?"

"_Me?_" Jason demands. "You're the one who crawls out of the ground and keeps going see-through and tells me you're Robin."

Steph frowns. "Great. It's not just me, then. I really am . . . what, half ghost?"

And Jason is suddenly, wildly glad that it's not just _him_. At least he thinks it's not. "Tell me a story," he suggests.

Steph slumps on his moth-eaten couch and puts her feet up, nearly kicking over his stack of VHS tapes. "Okay. So, I fought crime. I was called Spoiler. Because I, you know, spoiled bad guys' plans." Her mouth quirks sideways. "I was dating Robin."

Jason feels a little jolting twitch inside himself whenever he hears the name. He wonders who that one is. Was? "Go on."

She slumps down further, tugging at her baseball cap. "Then he quit. And I took over. I was Robin." There's something hard and awful in her voice. "But I messed up, and _he_ fired me. And then I got killed."

The story is incomplete, but Jason can hear the important parts. "He's kind of a jackass," he offers. That's a huge understatement of how he feels about Bruce right now, but it'll do for companionship.

Steph huffs out a laugh. "I guess so. Your turn. Who are you, Mr. Red Hood? How'd you die?"

Jason shrugs. He doesn't want to trust her, but if he doesn't give her anything, she won't give him the most important thing. He can play this game. After all, none of it _matters_ anymore. "I was Robin," he says. There are a million things he could say, but that's really the only one that's going to cut it.

Steph's expression doesn't change. "Huh," she says carefully.

"And I died," Jason says. "The—I was beaten. With a crowbar. And then blown up." The words are jerked out of him in short starts, but it just sounds hilarious more than anything else.

"Oh my God," Steph says. "Fuck. You're _him_. The one whose suit he kept in the cave, like some sort of fucking _shrine_. The cautionary tale kid."

Jason shivers all over, feeling his arms go loose with fear and shock. "Oh," he says.

He tells himself that it doesn't matter. That Bruce still didn't kill the Joker for him. That Bruce is a monster. His hands are still shaking. "I don't," he starts, but he has nothing to finish it with.

"We're a fucking mess," Steph says cheerfully. "What do we do now?"

Jason forces himself to take a few breaths. Then he says, "Well, you might be half ghost, but you're also half human. And you're probably way out of shape from that whole being dead thing. Want to train?"

Steph grins at him. "I thought you'd never ask."

Training has always been weirdly calming for Jason, despite the fact that he often butted heads with Bruce over his need to break kneecaps and crack skulls. When he's moving, he doesn't have to deal with any of that. He sort of thought it might be different now, but Steph's a good fighter and he likes sparring with her.

The only hitch is when her hand sometimes goes through his shoulder. Both of them try to ignore that part.

After an hour, they pause. Jason is breathing hard and Steph has a bruise blooming on her cheek, a reminder that she's sometimes solid. "So," she says. "Pretty hot, right?"

Jason laughs, his throat dry. "Yeah," he says, pushing down hard on the other memories of training with Bruce. He wonders if this girl ever . . . It doesn't matter.

The couch is pushed up again one wall, and Jason slumps down on it without bothering to put it back. "I take it you'll be staying for a little while."

Steph nods, sitting next to him. "I can't exactly go home like this. My mom would freak."

He fights the flare of surprise. A Robin with a living family? Gotta be a first, that one. He feels like a dick for thinking it. "I'll buy us pizza," he says instead.

**and you get seasick**

And Steph stays. Jason buys her pizza and Chinese food and soda, and he pretends not to notice when she fades in and out. She pretends not to notice when he goes out alone and comes back with bloodstained gloves. She tells herself again that supervillains are usually honest about it.

It's very easy to get into the routine of staying here, flipping through the channels on Jason's crappy TV and not worrying about going home just yet. She doesn't know how to explain to her mom what's going on, or if that'll even work. She's tried going out a few times, but people can only see her about half the time. It freaks her out so much that she stays home.

_Home_. Jason's tiny apartment full of knives shouldn't feel like home, but after all the places Steph has lived, it isn't so bad. The worst part is that she's finding out she has more in common with Jason than she'd like.

One night, they're sitting up late watching _COPS_. Steph's arm is resting companionably against Jason's, because it reassures Steph that she's solid and reassures Jason that he's not crazy. He's been worrying about that a lot lately, and Steph isn't sure she appreciates it. She knows she's real.

"We _always_ watch _COPS_," Steph complains. "I'm all for bad guys getting what they deserve, but seriously. It's a really stupid show."

"What would you rather watch?" Jason asks, clearly focused more on the guy getting cuffed while spewing obscenities.

"Anything," Steph says. "_Bladerunner_."

She puts her feet up on the scratchy couch and leans on Jason when he doesn't answer. Maybe if he's watching this show to figure something out, she should let him. Unless, of course, he comes to entirely the wrong conclusion. She won't be surprised if he does. Turns out this guy's pretty much a mess. Yeah, welcome to Gotham, right?

"You know what I was thinking?" Steph says softly, after a minute. "It's totally weird that I've never have a prom. I mean, it's not like I really wanted one or anything, but it still sucks." She knows Jason doesn't like it when she acknowledges the fact that she's less than alive, but she can't help it. It's not like she's got anyone else to talk to.

Jason turns to her and actually grins. "I'll give you a prom. We can have a creepy prom."

"Great," Steph mutters, but she's oddly comforted. "So, who's your favorite? You know, of Batman's people."

Jason laughs. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

"C'mon. Seriously." Jason gets weird when they talk about Batman, so Steph usually doesn't push it, but tonight she feels like being a little risky. At worst, he'll put a knife through her arm and it'll only touch air.

Jason watches the TV for another moment, and Steph isn't sure he's going to answer. Then he says, "I always kinda liked Alfred."

Which, yeah, totally valid answer. Steph nods. "He's pretty awesome."

"And you?" Jason's eyebrow quirks in that easy, cocky way he has.

"Batgirl," Steph says firmly. It's not even a legit question, c'mon. "Not the old one. The new one. You probably don't know her." Unless, of course, Jason has been out stalking Batman every night, which he has.

Jason snorts. "You _love_ her."

That definitely falls under funny-'cause-it's-true. "Shut up," Steph says.

Jason rolls his eyes. "This is the first time I've had a gay girlfriend."

"This is the first time _I've_ had a gay—" Steph catches herself. "Wait, never mind." She bites down hard on the pang she gets when she thinks of Tim and what a fucking rough time he's probably having right now. "I should go see him," she says.

"Who? Oh. Robin?" He says it like he doesn't believe anyone could ever want to be Robin.

For some reason, his tone pisses Steph off more than it should. "Yeah, Robin, and while you're at it, you could try remembering that _I'm_ Robin. You know, just for kicks."

"Fuck you," Jason snaps. "You're not Robin. You're just a figment of my imagination."

Steph is shaking with anger, but she can see that Jason's shaking, too. So he really is afraid of that. "No," she says harshly, "I'm not. And I'm sick of hearing it. Jay, I'm _here_. I'm real. So I dare you to say I'm not Robin again."

His mouth is a hard line. "You're not Robin."

She punches him.

He only responds by giving his head a sharp shake, like he's flicking away a fly. "Fuck." He touches his lip, which split under the force of Steph's knuckles.

"See?" she spits. "You're bleeding. That proves I'm real."

"What if I hit myself?" What could have come out as a joke, or sarcasm, sounds plaintive and horrible because his voice is shaking, too.

"No," Steph says. "No, you fucking didn't. Would you just shut up for ten seconds and—Would you just--" She looks at her hand and realizes that it's not solid anymore. "Shit," she says, and her voice echoes.

Jason stares at her. "No," he says. "Stephanie."

She just shuts her eyes and breathes and breathes. She can't be dead. Can't be. She still has bloody knuckles from their last sparring match and an ache between her ribs from where Jason hit her too hard and a craving from salt and vinegar chips, and--

She opens her eyes. She can't see the pathetic excuse for a carpet through her hand anymore.

When she looks at Jason, she realizes he's just as shaken up as she is. "If you faded," he says weakly, "If mean, if you faded out all the way, I think I really _would_ go crazy. I don't know what to _do_ when you do that."

Steph laughs, slightly horrified. "That's no pressure at all." Stephanie Brown, saving Gotham by keeping crazy jackasses sane. Being the Spoiler was easier.

"I'm going out," Jason says. He picks up the hood from the table and puts it on, covering the domino mask that's still his real face. "Later."

Steph settles back against the couch, feeling morose. She knows all about the goddamn grave and how Jason is supposed to be _dead_, so what's that make her? And if he's Robin and he's alive, what the hell is she supposed to be? If she's not allowed to be Robin, she doesn't know what she is.

*

Later, Jason comes back with blood all over him and a hell of a story to tell.

"It's lame," Steph says.

Jason looks up, and the light shining on his hood makes it look like a traffic light. "What is?" he asks. His voice is muffled, and he pulls the hood off. His eyes are hidden in shadow behind the mask, and his hair is a mess.

Steph gestures with one gloved hand. "This. The severed heads, your pet drug ring. _Lame_. Or do they not have that word when you come from?"

Jason slams his hand down, think black glove on the table, so substantial. "It's important."

"No. . ." says Steph, dragging the word out. "You're just trying to impress Batman, you know. Just like the first one."

Jason explodes. He wouldn't kill her, even if he could, but the force of his rage hits her. She can feel hurt etched on his face under the hood as a million denials float to his lips. "Easy," she says, pressing a hand which is sometimes almost solid to Jason's chest. The hurricane subsides.

He sits. "Sorry."

"Me too. I _know_ you're not like the other one. I mean, I don't know him really, but, y'know."

"Dick," Jason says, shrugging like he doesn't care.

Steph grins, and tries to balance herself on a chair that won't acknowledge her. "At least I can keep you all straight better than Batman can," she says ruefully.

Jason snorts. "He ought to be able to. There are only three of us."

Steph doesn't correct him.

"Eight heads is a little excessive, huh?" she says, changing the subject. Way to go Steph, make him mad. But when he doesn't answer, she persists, "It's like a hydra, but messier."

"I think hydras have a hundred heads," Jason says. "_That's_ excessive." He shuffles a foot, a black boot against the floor. "I guess I got carried away, a little."

Steph wonders what goes through his head under that hood. She catalogs the evidence like she's trying to solve a murder. Maybe she is. The hood and the silly, showy biker outfit are just covering up. The mask under the hood is weird, pointless. It's Robiny.

The full Robin suit _under_ the outfit is the really weird thing. It's a little bit more macho than the old one, but it's still a Robin suit.

Jason's hair is the weirdest thing of all. Steph's _seen_ pictures, and it definitely used to be blond. If he dyed it again, he's seriously clinging to the whole Robin thing even more than she is.

"So," Steph says, "Why Red Hood, anyway?"

Jason gives her a look she can't identify and turns away. "Where's my squiggly knife?"

Steph sighs. "It's in the wall. Where you stuck it earlier. Why?"

Jason laughs. "I was kind of thinking of putting some of my blood on some roses and sending them to Bruce. Because, you know he'd take a DNA sample."

Steph _looks_ at him.

Jason pauses. "It's things like that that make me crazy, huh?"

"Yeah. We need someone sane to be our chaperone."

Jason grabs his wallet off the table. "Hey. Let's see a movie."

**a new deck of cards and the threads of your dream**

After the movies, Steph opts to walk home rather than risking another ride on Jason's bike, so he feels free to stay out as late as he wants. He's got something to do, anyway.

There's at itch at the base of his spine that keeps pulling him back toward Wayne Manor, even though he's not ready to tip his hand yet.

That doesn't stop him. He ends up perched creepily in a tree just outside what used to be Bruce's window—is probably still his window. He doesn't use half the rooms in the giant house. Jason's been in that room—in that bed—more times than he can count. He wonders how he'd feel if he broke right in like he belonged there again. What would Bruce say? Would it be admitting defeat, for either of them?

He leaps to the windowsill, landing less gracefully than he'd like. The blinds are open, and Bruce is inside, sitting on the edge of his bed. He looks vulnerable in a way he rarely lets himself be in public, but which Jason has seen hundreds of times. Jason _knows_ Bruce. He can hurt him. He tells himself that's why he finds himself rapping on the window.

Bruce's head snaps around immediately, and he's up and in fighting posture before Jason can pry the window open. He wonders why the hell it wasn't locked.

"Jason," Bruce says, when Jason gets the window open. He says it like he knows it's true. Maybe the DNA wouldn't have been necessary after all.

"Batman," Jason says, mocking and cold as he can manage. He never should have come. He can't stop looking at Batman and seeing Bruce, no suit, no enemy.

"Why are you doing this?" Bruce asks flatly. His hands are clenched at his sides, but he doesn't look like he's preparing for battle. He just looks honest and angry.

Jason is still perched on the windowsill, half in and half out. If he comes in, he's going to fuck this up.

"You need--"

Jason drops in the window. "You really thought I'd _need_ you?" His sneer sounds real, but the damage is done.

Bruce reaches for him.

*

Jason isn't going to let whatever Bruce keeps saying in his ear have any impact. It's just a sound, and Jason has more important things to worry about, like the fact that Bruce is fucking him like nothing has changed. Maybe he should be paying attention to that little detail, but _how_ they're fucking doesn't matter anymore. Jason is going to take the sensations at face value, because that's always hurt less. Not that this doesn't hurt.

He wonders what Talia would think. She probably wouldn't approve of this at all, and he does owe her something. He also owes Steph something, like coming home in one piece, but Bruce is holding his hips so hard it's bruising, and Jason can't spare a thought for much else. But Jason is doing much more thinking than he wants to with Bruce moving inside him like nothing else matters.

Bruce is moaning now, a deep, scared sound, still moaning a word. Jason buckles down and tries to shut his brain up. Like that's going to work. Jason's brain has become a very difficult place in the past few weeks, and he's just trying to counter that by being more straightforward than ever. A knife and a hood. How simple can you get? Then Bruce does something that ends with Jason's head slamming into the headboard, and it all goes to hell. He's seeing stars and worse things, because suddenly the headboard feels a hell of a lot like a crowbar against his skull.

This would be easier to get over if he hadn't woken up in a fucking coffin with all the wounds still there. Yeah, he remembers that now, not that he wants to. And he's heard that there are _rumors_ about what the Joker did to him before it was over, but Bruce's hands are in his hair now, and Jason doesn't want to hear it.

So, no more names and no more fucking masks. That would just make this more difficult than it already is. Now, Jason grits his teeth and bucks back against Bruce's cock. He has fallen in love with guns and fast food and knives and motorcycles, and now a simple _fuck you_ will suffice. He's not Robin, not anymore. Jason will leave that to Tim (and maybe Steph, he thinks guiltily). Today, he can take Bruce's cock without taking Bruce's name. Jason bundles up Bruce, Batman, and all the rest, and shoves them out of his head.

Then he comes, fully aware that Bruce has been saying "Jason," the whole time in a terrible voice.

*

As Jason is leaving the manor (Christ, he couldn't very well _stay_), he almost trips over Tim on his way in.

"Whoa," Tim says.

"You're--" Jason says, aware that his hood is still in his hand.

"Tim Drake," Tim says defensively.

"_Robin_," Jason grins. He takes a savage pleasure in seeing how short the kid looks close up. How breakable he is. He's suddenly overcome with a horrible wave of feeling, pity and panic mingling in his chest. Bruce is back there in his room, lying in bed naked and not sleeping and not dreaming and just _hurting_, and Jason wants to take this kid, this _Robin_, somewhere very far away before he ends up . . .

"Kid," Jason says, "Let me take you for a burger."

*

They sit together in McDonald's, Tim eying Jason warily from the depths of his hooded sweatshirt as he eats his burger and fries. Jason has a giant milkshake still untouched in front of him.

"So," Jason says. "Robin."

It's late enough that they're the only customers in the place, but Tim still looks around furtively. Just like someone Jason could mention. Fantastic. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Not Robin," Tim says finally. "Not anymore. You need to update your files."

Jason waves his hand. "Okay, so not Robin. In which case, you really shouldn't have been creeping around the manor. So why were you?" He doesn't know what the hell he's hoping to get out of this, but he knows Steph likes this kid, and Bruce likes him, so that's got to mean something. He just has to do a little digging until he stops wanting to reach over and punch Tim in the face or hug him.

Tim stares at his soda. "I was just . . . I've been seeing things lately. Me and Batgirl both have. I thought maybe Bruce . . ."

"Things like what?" If the kid's crazy . . .

Tim looks at him. "Like Robin," he says. He clears his throat, looking impossibly young. "I mean . . . my girlfriend. She was Robin. But she's . . . gone. And Batgirl and I keep seeing her around. Just little flashes outside our windows and stuff. I thought I was going crazy till I talked to her. But if _you're_ back . . ."

Jason sighs. "Hate to break it to you, but she's still dead."

Tim's head snaps up from where he's been staring at his drink again. His eyes are narrow, the way Bruce's get when he's onto something. "Do you even know her?"

Jason just wants out, wants to run back to the little apartment where Steph will judge him and yell at him but never make him all confused about what he's supposed to be doing this whole time. "I met her," he says. "She's kind of staying at my place. But before you get all excited, I think she's kind of a ghost."

Tim huffs out a laugh. "A ghost. I don't really . . . That doesn't happen. Here. Maybe in Metropolis, but not here. Dead is dead." He gives Jason a dubious look. "Unless you have something like a Lazarus pit."

Jason shouldn't be so needled by the fact that Tim managed to get it right on the first guess, but he can't help it. Greatest fucking detective of all time. "Yeah," he says, "Well, you can take it up with her." If she's even really there, of course. Tim is making him doubt his sanity more than ever. "Do you want to come see her, or what?"

"I don't know," Tim says, pushing a fry through his ketchup. "I don't trust you. You've got some blood on your collar. For all I know, you just murdered Bruce and you're about to murder me. What am I supposed to do?"

Tim's voice has gone all shaky and desperate, and it occurs to Jason to ask the obvious question. "Hey," he says, "You okay? Because you're taking all this _way_ too well. Me showing up alive and your dead girlfriend being around and—and fucking fast food and all that."

Tim looks at him with blinding eyes. "My dad," he says, sounding choked. "He died. Got killed. So I don't really care why Jason Todd is alive of Steph's a ghost or whether or not Bruce is even alive. I don't care. Do you understand that?"

Jason does, in a way. He's been there, or somewhere similar. He's been a lot of weird places. "Yeah," he says softly. "I think I get you."

**a hole in every pocket and half a bag of tricks**

It's almost midnight when Jason texts Steph on the phone he bought for her, saying, "come 2 the busstop." She frowns at it. She really misses Tim, who always texted in full sentences and wouldn't even use numbers when he was talking about the time. She guesses she's going to the bus stop.

She pulls on a ratty old sweatshirt she found lying around the apartment (not that she's ever seen Jason wear it) and heads out into the night. If he wants her to go in costume, he's going to have to make her a new one. It's weird, but she actually feels safer in civilian clothing. Probably 'cause she didn't get basically killed in civilian clothing, huh.

When she gets to the bus stop, Jason is sitting on the bench in the little enclosure, talking to a kid in a hooded sweatshirt. All of Steph's _run the fuck away_ instincts kick in immediately. Here comes an emotional conversation, and she's not ready. She's not sure she'll ever be ready. Jason is a douche.

"Tim?" she says.

Tim jumps to his feet and spins around, still moving like he's in costume, because he's Tim and that's what he does. "Steph?" He looks like he hasn't slept in a week. "Oh my God. You're really alive."

"Close enough," Steph says, feeling her throat tighten. "I don't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, anyways. Hey."

Tim practically knocks the wind out of her when he hugs her, which is probably a good sign on the whole being-alive front. "Hey," he says.

"Great," Jason says, "Adorable reunion. Now, can we go?"

"Where?" Steph asks, immediately suspicious.

Jason looks away, out at the road. "Bludhaven."

Figures there'd be a midnight bus to Bludhaven. "Why?"

"To get the hell out of Gotham," Tim says, his voice thick. "I think I need it, and I know Jason needs it, and this is all too crazy to process in this place."

Steph privately agrees, but she's surprised either Tim or Jason is well-adjusted enough to realize that. "Cool," she says. "Any clue what we're going to do in Bludhaven? Because that's basically the only place in the world that's worse that Gotham."

Tim hesitates. "Dick lives there. We could stay with him for a little."

"Whoa," Jason says sharply, "You didn't say _that_ was part of the plan."

"No," Tim concedes a little smugly, "But you already bought the tickets. We might as well go. Besides, I think he might like to know that you two are alive. Maybe he'd stop worrying about me all the time."

Steph wonders on what planet Jason being alive would make anyone stop worrying about anything, but she doesn't say so. He's managed to be pretty okay so far, and he's only killed people she doesn't know, so that's a start. "Bludhaven it is," she says.

*

The bus is quiet and nearly empty, which is a good thing, because they look like kind of a terrifying mess. There's blood on Jason's collar and Tim looks like a runaway drug addict and Steph can't even stay solid for more than five minutes. "So, Tim," she says, way more casually than is probably appropriate in this situation. "How long till you let Bruce know what we're up to? Or did you already text him when we weren't looking?"

Tim looks hurt, like updating Bruce on the situation would be a betrayal of some sort. Maybe things have changed while she's been . . . gone. "I'm not going to tell him," Tim says. "Things are . . . complicated, right now."

Steph takes that in, reading it as: Tim isn't going to tell Bruce _yet_. Maybe that's unfair, but Steph isn't exactly a dumbass. She knows what goes on in the Batcave, thanks. "Okay."

After a few more minutes of silence, she catches Tim looking at her and says, "What's up?"

Tim sighs. "Steph . . . Jason said you were kind of a ghost. How are you back? Or how much are you back?"

Right, it would be awesome if Steph could answer that. "I don't know," she says. "Look, Tim, that's why I didn't try to contact you. I didn't want to show up and freak you out, or just end up dying again. I don't know how I'm back, or what I'm supposed to do right now. So I'm just kind of going with it."

Tim nods and lapses back into silence. A few minutes later, he says, "I'm glad you're back. I mean, the other stuff aside, I'm glad."

Steph smiles. "Yeah. I just hope Dick doesn't kill us all when we crash at his place." Having Tim to talk to is something she's missed more than she realized, and maybe she doesn't need to be Robin to be happy. Maybe she just needs at least one Robin around her. Recycled names are crap, anyway.

**thunder wrapped in cellophane**

When they get to Dick's house, he isn't home. Tim leans against the door and breathes in the chilly spring air as Jason and Steph argue about whether or not Dick is likely to have traps laid in case someone tries to break in.

"I'm just _saying_," Jason says. "I know the guy; you don't. He'd do something psycho like that."

"No," Steph snaps, "You're just saying that because you hate his guts. He's not Batman, for fuck's sake. Hey, Tim."

Tim tries to stop zoning out and/or panicking. "Yeah?"

"You know Dick better than either of us. What do you say?"

Tim sighs. "Even if there are traps, which I don't think there are, I'll bet I could disable them. Let's go in. It's freezing out here."

*

There turn out not to be traps. Inside, the house is neat and mostly empty, except for some stuff that Tim can easily identify as belonging to Roy. Awesome. He sits at the dining room table and tries to ignore Steph and Jason, who are exploring the house.

Jason comes back from the bedroom a few minutes later, grinning. "There are actual _handcuffs_ in his bedroom," he says, sounding delighted. "Who knew, huh? I guess I missed out on some of Dick's personal growth or whatever."

"Uh huh," Tim says. He doesn't want to go there, for so many reasons. "Where's Steph?" He doesn't want her to wander off, because he still can't quite believe she's real and not about to fade out. She almost did a couple of times on the bus, but she and Jason assured him that it's just something that happens now.

"She went back out," Jason says. "I think she's getting us a movie. You know, keeping up normal life in all the crazy, and all that." He shrugs. "And I think she wanted to give us a second to talk."

Great, Tim is going to get murdered by a crazy dead boy. "Great," he says stiffly. "About what?" He stands up, making sure there's a door withing dashing distance in case Jason decides to do something insane.

"Easy," Jason says, stepping toward Tim. "I'm not mad, okay? Not anymore. I mean, there's nothing I can do about the fact that I died, right? He had to get someone to replace me. And it's not like I was the first. I _know_ that. And you seem pretty okay. More than okay, maybe."

Tim shuts his eyes, feeling _safe_, of all things. His instincts are all shot right now, shot from too little sleep and too many aborted emotions, and he doesn't know what to do. He feels like he's known Jason for years, because you can't even be Robin without knowing about Jason. Besides, it's not like he didn't watch Jason, back in the old days. Tim practically made a study of Batman and Robin, so maybe it's not totally irrational that he trusts Jason. He should have seen enough to know that trusting someone like this is crazy, but he doesn't exactly have anyone else right this second.

When he opens his eyes, Jason is closer, and Tim is practically backed against the fridge, which, shit. That shouldn't have happened. Somewhere along the line he let himself forget that Jason is a superhero, too. "Uh," he says.

Jason looks at him.

"Oh," Tim says.

When Jason kisses him, it's not as unfamiliar as Tim expected it to be. It also doesn't make any sense on any rational level, but he's clinging to Jason before he can stop himself, because this whole thing is so crazy, and this is the only real, solid thing left. Tim breathes in the oppressive smell of Jason's leather jacket and leans back against the fridge.

Jason starts rubbing Tim through his jeans, looking focused in a way that Tim's seen in the mirror before when he's worried and concentrating really hard. Then Jason slides his hand between Tim's legs, but still Tim refuses to make a sound. Jason grunts, and he moves his knee between Tim's legs.

"Oh," Tim says in surprise, before he can stop himself. His jeans are too tight, and he seriously needs this right now. But oh God, Dick is on his way home.

Tim leans back harder, and it's not quite like he's trying to get away. He's still thinking about that one when Jason moves his knee sharply away. Then Tim does give in. He shoves forward against Jason's hand, which is hovering at his waist again.

Jason moves to unzip Tim's jeans. He flips aside the folds of Tim's dinosaur underwear (fuck, he just _had_ to be wearing those) and grips Tim's cock in his gloved hand, smirking slightly.

"Don't you say a thing," Tim grinds out.

Jason squeezes him, and he rocks forward. Jason is making _him_ do it on purpose, maybe so Jason will get in less trouble if Dick does come in. Yeah, right. They both know Dick better than that. Tim grits his teeth, and fucks Jason's hand. The little leather noises of the gloves mingle with the whimpers that Tim can't keep down anymore.

Because Tim has fucking insane luck, they finish at least two minutes before Dick comes home.

**angels in the shooting galleries**

Dick has the world's worst headache. Patrol was too long and horrible tonight, and now he's standing in his living room staring at Tim and _Jason Todd_.

"So, a Lazarus Pit," Dick says flatly.

Jason nods enthusiastically. "Believe me?"

"Not really," Dick sighs. "But it's not like it matters. You're alive. And apparently crazier than before. Also, taller."

"He's not crazy," Tim chimes in. He looks exhausted and intense, but he also looks happy, and Dick is grateful enough for that that he's not going to question why Tim looks that way, at least for now.

"Fine." Dick slumps against the wall. "And Stephanie is really alive, too?"

"Yeah," Tim says. "Mostly, anyway. She keeps fading in and out." He gives Dick a look, like he knows this whole this is nuts, but they're in it together. Like they're the sane ones. Dick is flattered and amused.

"I think we should cope with this in the morning," Dick says, making the diplomatic choice. "It's really late and I don't want to deal with this right now." He gives Jason a look. "As long as you can promise not to kill me in my sleep."

Jason looks like he's about to say something smart, so Tim says, "He won't. He promises."

Jason grins. "Sure I do. Well, good. I haven't slept in—I don't even know. I'll leave a note for Steph. 'All asleep in Dick's bed.'" He leers at Dick.

"Nice try," Dick snaps. "I have a floor. Tim can take the bed, and we can crash there. Steph—if she's really alive—can have the couch."

"Tim doesn't mind if I share the bed with him," Jason says smoothly.

Dick tries very hard not to bristle. What the _fuck_. Jason destroys everything he touches. "Tell you what: I'll take the bed with Tim, and you can work out your issues elsewhere." He shrugs at Tim. "It's a big bed. And you look like you could use the company." He doesn't really want to use Tim as a weapon against Jason, but his supplies are limited. The fact that the bed isn't _quite_ big combines with the weight of the last few years' history to make this a really bad idea, though.

"Fine," Tim says. He looks too tired to argue.

"Fine," Jason repeats.

*

Dick wakes up sandwiched between Jason and Tim, and there probably aren't words for how messed up it is that Tim is hard against Dick's thigh. Dick didn't mean for this to happen. As Dick regains consciousness, he realizes that Jason is pressing hard against him from the other side, and maybe that's why Tim—Maybe. Either way, if Dick doesn't do something now, Jason and Tim are going to have sex right through him. "Hey," he says loudly, trying and failing to pull himself upright.

"Sorry," Tim mutters, but he's Tim, and he knows what he's doing. Dick's not really sorry, not anymore than he was sorry the first time this happened, when Jason was still safety underground.

"Loosen up, N," Jason says cheerfully from Dick's other side, the tone almost masking the look in his eyes. He pushes harder against Dick, and Dick's motions to get away aren't exactly having the desired effect.

"Jason," Dick says, "First of all, don't call me N. Second of all, stop humping my leg. Third of all, get your psychotic ass out of my house."

Jason shoves harder against Dick's leg and moans, and Dick instantly feels Tim react. "Dick," Tim says helplessly, rubbing against Dick's other leg. This day is not quite what Dick had hoped it would be. Given last night, though, he doesn't know what he thought he was going to wake up to.

If Dick were a slightly better person, he'd stop Jason from reaching over him to stroke Tim through his boxers, but things have been rough in these parts lately, and Jason's anger seems a little too familiar for Dick to make a move.

Tim makes a tiny sound like _nn_, and Dick finally feels bad enough to slap Jason's wrist. And Jason _laughs_. He fucking laughs, and puts his hand right back where it was. The second time Dick moves, Jason grabs his wrist before it reaches him. "Take your hand off me," Dick says in a voice that sounds flat even to him.

"No way," Jason says softly. "Not until you jerk me off."

That's as much as it takes. "What the _fuck?_" Dick says, feeling every muscle in his body tense up. "What the _hell_ are you doing in my house, what the hell are you doing in my city, what the hell are you even doing alive?" In the light of day, the surreality of the situation has been replaced by plain ridiculousness, and Dick isn't going to put up with it.

Jason doesn't so much as blink, he just guides Dick's hand to his cock, shameless as hell, but Jason always has been. He's been fearless, anyway, and maybe that matures into the same thing. Dick finds himself gripping Jason's cock, pissed off enough to want to hurt him and turned on enough to want to get him off. Tim makes a funny noise on Dick's other side, but Dick blocks that out.

"Do it," Jason says, and Dick suddenly stops processing everything. He starts to stroke Jason more gently than he probably should, given how angry he was and how hard Jason is. "Fuck," Jason says, "Harder." Dick grits his teeth and remembers the look in Tim's eyes last night, and he strokes Jason harder.

"Dick," Tim says more insistently, and his voice is breaking in all sorts of interesting ways that Dick should probably be paying attention to, but he's too busy getting Jason off.

"Ahh, do it, for fuck's sake–" Jason says, and the grit in his voice is enough to keep Dick's scattered mind focused, at least for now. Dick's not even going to _pretend_ Jason's commanding voice doesn't sound like Bruce. Fuck.

Tim knows it, too, and he's shoving against Dick's leg harder. Maybe he's sick of pretending this isn't going to happen. Dick probably knew it was going to happen since last night, if he's being honest. Dick can feel Tim rocking back and forth, desperately trying for something Dick isn't sure he can give him, and Jason is practically _growling_, and Dick can't even.

"_Shit_," Jason says when he comes, and now his voice is all Jason. Tim makes that stupid lost noise again and bucks against Dick's leg. Not enough. Dick takes his hand off Jason's cock and reaches for Tim, but Jason's hand (gloved, what the hell) is on his wrist, stopping him. "No," Jason says, smirking. He lets go of Dick and reaches over him, almost on top of him. "Hey, Tim. Hey," he says, taking Tim's cock in his glove. It only takes a second of Jason's touch for Tim to come, and Dick can't even sort out how or why or how many kinds of angry that makes him.

Tim shudders hard against Dick's leg as Jason rolls back over to the other side of the bed. "Steph," Jason pants.

"What?" Tim says, his eyes all hollow and tired and young.

"Steph is going to _kill_ us," Jason says, not even laughing a little.

Dick grits his teeth and tries to process what the chances are of Steph actually being alive. If she is alive, she's going to be pissed that she missed this. He sighs. Why does he know so many people like Steph and Jason? He thought his life would get less complicated after Gotham, but it's only gotten stranger. He wishes he could give Roy a call, but they're fighting again, and so he's stuck with different disasters for now.

**the epilogue notes**

"So," Steph says.

"Jesus Christ," Dick says. His head is buried in his hands as he sits at the living room table. "This is just ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Gee, thanks," Steph says.

Tim is sitting on the couch and trying not to panic. He keeps telling himself that it's a good thing that Steph is alive, but everything else is so crazy. His world fell into neat little pieces when Steph and his father died, and now he's gotten half of what he lost back. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't feel real.

And of course there's the whole sex-with-Jason-and-Dick thing, which was unplanned and insane. He thinks he should go back to being Robin, just so he can pretend to be logical again. He wonders if any of the other miss Bruce. They all seem to be incredibly bitter at him, which is too bad, because Tim knows you can't get out of Gotham.

Tim tunes back in to hear Dick say, "I just don't know what we're going to do with you two now. Does Bruce know?"

Jason snorts from his seat next to Tim. His hand, Tim realizes, is on Tim's knee. "Of course. Where have you _been?_ Bruce couldn't _not_ know about me. He doesn't know about Steph yet, though."

"If he'd even care," Steph says. "But Cass doesn't know, either, and I think she should. I'm going to see her today."

"You _love_ her," Jason says.

Steph throws an empty soda can at his head, and Tim wonders if that means it's true. He wouldn't exactly be surprised. They're all a confused package of attractions and emotions. It's not like he can complain.

"Seriously, though," Steph says. "Jason, you've got to get it together." She turns to Dick. "He's been doing some _way_ psychotic stuff that more than crosses the line between crimefighter and, you know."

Dick frowns. "That's not—I can't say I'm _surprised_. But you can't do that."

Jason looks around at the three of them, and Tim sees something going on in his head, but he has no idea what. Jason is amazing and a mystery and terrifying and alive and Tim just hopes he doesn't snap and kill them all.

"Okay," Jason says.

"Okay?" Steph echoes. "Meaning?"

Jason shoves his hands through his hair. "Okay, I'll stop this revenge trip. Or at least I'll put it on hold. I didn't think . . . Look, I wasn't expecting to meet you people. I didn't think any of this would happen. But it did. So." He shrugs. "Maybe we can do some crimefighting stuff around here before we go back to Gotham."

Tim is a little worried about what will happen when Jason decides it's time to go back, but that can wait. They'll have time to figure this thing out, anyway. Dick, meanwhile, is looking aghast at the idea of so many people suddenly taking over his city, but Steph gives him a look, and amazingly, he keeps his mouth shut. Tim bites back a wave of relief that Steph is alive.

"Fine," Dick says. "But you're getting your own place. Well, I guess you can stay here, Tim."

"Thanks." Tim likes Steph and could probably learn not to be constantly on his guard around Jason, but he's sure as hell not going to live with either of them.

"But look," Steph says, "We can't all be Robin. That would be ridiculous."

"I don't want . . ." Jason starts, but he trails off. As if that lie is going to get by any of them.

"One Nightwing is enough," Dick says firmly, preempting that suggestion.

Steph swings her legs and takes out another soda from the pack. "If you're Robin, Jason, I'm guessing the Red Hood identity is open. How does Miss Hood sound?"

"Stupid," Jason and Dick say in unison before glaring at each other.

"Awesome," Steph says. "I guess now we're just missing a Spoiler."

Tim wants to say that it's not a game of musical name chairs, but he looks good in purple, and besides, it's important that they have a Spoiler. They need someone to say Spoiler's alive, and Steph's doing other things. Tim has felt too disconnected for too long, and maybe having something new to connect to will work. He doesn't want to know what'll happen when they have to go back to Gotham—he knows Jason can't stay away forever—but for now, this is just enough to hang on to.

"I can, uh," he says. "Do the Spoiler thing. If that's okay with Steph."

Steph looks delighted. "Okay, that's the best thing ever."

Tim just hopes Steph can stay solid and Jason can stay sane. God, he hopes _all_ of them can stay sane. Too bad they don't exactly have any good role models in that department. He looks at Jason's hand on his leg and Steph drinking soda and Dick looking somewhere between confused and annoyed, and he shudders. This is going to be so bad and so amazing.


End file.
